Author: Rabbi David Krishef

Psalm 11

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Rabbi Jack Moline, in my opinion one of North America’s wisest rabbis, once shared that when he writes a sermon or a d’var Torah, his first intended audience is himself, so that when he listens to himself delivering it, he’ll learn something that he needs to learn. If anyone else listens and learns from it as well, so much the better.

Well, having completed almost three months of Psalm blogging, that’s about how I’m feeling. A systematic consideration of Psalms is helping me think through some issues that come before me, but I’m wondering how many others find it useful. A blog is a conversation – I invite you to share your thoughts on what I write each week. If you are so inclined, please go to embodiedtorah.wordpress.com and leave me a note or a reflection on the week’s Psalm.

“When the foundations are destroyed, what can the righteous man do?” (11:3)

We live our lives based on a set of core assumption and beliefs about the world. Most of the time we don’t question or explore those basic principles, and in fact we might not even know what they are. Now and then, however, something happens to make us notice one of our foundational beliefs and either reject it, modify it, or conform to it.

Our core belief might be that if I treat other people right, I will always be treated well. This principle is shaken when we find ourself being mistreated for no apparent reason, perhaps by people we don’t even know! We might conclude that we should reject the core belief, and from that point on not care about how we treat others. Preferably, we will decide to modify the core belief and conclude that regardless of how others treat me, I am going to treat people well.

Another core belief might be that Judaism directs me to care for the environment and all who live in it, both human and animal. This principle is tested when I learn more about food production and the damage done to the environment by pesticides and the raising of animals for food. I might commit myself to conform to my principle and change my diet; or I might decide that other principles of Jewish eating allow me to lesson my commitment to this core value as long as I hold onto other principles of kashrut.

In order to live a life of righteousness, it is important to examine, preserve, maintain and live by one’s foundational principles.

Psalm 10

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“Why, Adonai, do you stand far away?” (10:1)

When I feel frightened and empty inside, sometimes I can identify the cause and address it. Perhaps I made a mistake and caused hurt feelings, so someone is angry with me. Perhaps I have a list of things that need to be done and just don’t know how I am going to finish everything. Perhaps there is something going on with one or more of my children – problems at school, tension at home, and that is causing the entire family to be distant and unhappy. Sometimes, though, for no identifiable reason I feel this tremendous disconnect between myself and everything else around me, as if I am floating off in space somewhere or living in a parallel universe only vaguely connected with the people around me.

Is it God who is standing far away? It’s easy to blame God and say ‘why have you moved so far away?’ It’s easy to see myself at the center of the universe, as if all existence consists only of that which takes place inside my head.

It’s a matter of perspective. I could just as easily say that God is not standing far from me; rather, I am standing far away from God! The problem is that when I look at the universe from the perspective of my head, the universe is severely distorted, like a Mercator projection of a map of the world. A goal of a religious life ought to be to see the world in a more expansive way – not from the limited perspective of a single human being or group of people, but from the widest possible lens of humanity.

Thus we can break the illusion of God standing far from me or me standing far from God.

Psalm 9

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“Adonai is a haven for the oppressed, a haven in times of trouble.” (9:10)

Sometimes you’re just having one of those days on which problems accumulate. Not necessarily huge problems, but each one is like a tiny brush fire that has to be put out immediately, before it grows, spawning the leaping flames of a giant problem. It’s one of those days when you feel like the only sane person in a world of unstable, psychotic, pyromaniacs playing with matches.

In the world of electronic communication, why do people ‘reply all’ when what is needed is a simple response to the sender? Why do people respond to a carefully worded email with questions and objections based on reading only the subject line and the first sentence, rather than first reading the entire note?

Oppression is a time like this when you’re feeling the pressure of a world full of the noise and static of a dozen annoyances grabbing for your attention like needy toddlers. Oppression is when you come home exhausted after a day of busyness with no breaks, with no sense that you’ve accomplished anything useful, lasting, or meaningful.

The Psalmist asserts that you can find a haven from oppression. The haven can be your home, but only if you put up on invisible force field around your home that admits you, but excludes the troubles. The Mezuzah on the door is the force field – the reminder that this home is a place in which God’s presence lives. Stop at the doorstep – take a breath of redemption, and breath out the oppression. Put a smile on your face, and walk through the door. Welcome to the haven from oppression! Welcome to God’s home!

Psalm 8

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“What is man that You have been mindful of him, mortal man that You have taken note of him, that You have made him little less than divine, and adorned him with glory and majesty?” (8:5-6)

There is a teaching of the Hasidic Rabbi Simha of Bunem, that a person should always carry two slips of paper, one in each pocket. In the left pocket, the slip of paper reads, “You are dust and ashes.” (Genesis 18:27) The slip of paper in the right pocket reads, “For my sake, the world was created.” (Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5)

Being created in God’s image is at the same time a great privilege and a great responsibility. The ability to manipulate tools and extensively use the resources of the planet for our benefit gives us an advantage over all other forms of life. Were we to be tossed into the wild to compete on even terms with animals of prey, most of us would be lost. In our own environment, we are masters.

It is the “little less than Divine” that draws my attention. We are asked to be self-limiting in our behavior. No one can compel us to use fewer resources, be kinder to the environment, treat all life with compassion. The Psalmist therefore reminds us that we are not Divine; in Reb Simha’s words, we are destined to become dust and ashes.

Reb Simha’s teaching is that ego needs to be balanced with humility; and that self-effacement needs to be balanced with self-esteem. In the end, though, he recognizes that a healthy ego is slightly tilted towards self-esteem over humility. The key to understanding Reb Simha’s teaching is to remember that the right hand is stronger than the left hand (for those of us who are left handed, think of it symbolically). Therefore, the self-affirming message (“I am so important that the world was created for me”) is slightly stronger than the ego-cautioning message warning me that I am a mortal being destined to return to the grave.

Psalm 7

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I realize, as I have gotten into the reading of psalms as a devotional practice, that my reflection does not necessarily match the intent of the Psalmist. While I read the entire Psalm and try to understand it, the verse or phrase that I select out may have caught my eye because of something going on in my life, something in the news, or a concern that someone else may have brought me, and may not be related to the subject of the Psalm as a whole. In fact, once I pull the verse out of context, my thoughts on it may not even fairly represent what that very verse meant to the Psalmist. While this would not be a legitimate method of Bible study, it is an age-old way to use Psalms, not dissimilar from the way a mantra might be used in meditation. Initially, the mantra has a certain meaning, but in repetition, the mind moves beyond the literal meaning and the mantra becomes a gateway for an expansion of thought. This is the case in the following reflection. In context, the sense is that “God vindicates the righteous,” a sentiment that might prompt feelings of self-righteousness. My translation, “God judges the righteous,” rather invites us to be self-critical.

“God judges the righteous …” (7:12)

No matter how much good we might have done, beware the self-righteous feeling that we have done our job with unsurpassed excellence and we may now pat ourselves on the back and stop doing the work.

No matter how righteous we might be, we are still judged by God. Are we good because goodness is Godly, or are we good because we are seeking reward?

If we didn’t get emotional satisfaction from doing good works, would we still do them? If we were not appreciated, would we still act on our good impulses?

My High School science teacher had a poster on his walls, which said something like, “The mark of a truly good person is what he does when he knows no one is watching.”

Is God watching everything we do, 24/7 (or 24/6, if God rests on Shabbat)? Is God the equivalent of a super-efficient NSA, sucking up information to be used against us in a Divine court of law, should we someday stumble?

It is theologically problematic to endow God with the quality of human watchfulness, but it is part of the my understanding of what it means to be boundless and infinite that all moments, all space, all knowledge, are part of the Divine.

Every action that I take affects the infinite fabric of reality. Once done, an action cannot be undone. If it causes damage, the damage might be reparable, but it still leaves a mark.

No one should be so self-centered as to believe that his goodness is unblemished, but no one should be so arrogant as to believe that she has no goodness at all.

Rather, live life as if every action is an opportunity to reinforce our goodness and make up for the times that we could have done better.